Chapter Fourteen: Frantic
They want me alive...They can't kill me, they want me alive!
The small voice inside Oliver's head was right – he knew that. But, as he struggled against the chains that held him, twisting his body this way and that in a desperate attempt to shake off the layers of saran wrap that had been so mercilessly wrapped around his head, that voice of reason found it impossible to make itself heard. Instead it was fear that overwhelmed Oliver – a cold, blind terror, as the seconds passed and still he could not take a breath. Slade had taken him unawares, so he had not had time to fill his lungs before the wrap had been smeared grotesquely across his face, cutting off his air supply to such devastating effect. It seemed faintly bizarre that a material normally so weak that a baby could tear right through it was now within seconds of robbing him of his life. But he was powerless, unable to reach up and pull it from his face; all he could do was squirm like a worm on a hook, hoping that the sadist who held him captive would soon grant him some form of release.
How long had it been now? Fifteen seconds? Thirty? He had no idea. Still he struggled, writhing frantically as his lungs tightened, warning him that they could not take much more of this. Through the layers of the wrap he could just make out Slade, standing not two feet away from where he hung. How long would he let this go on for? Surely he knew he wouldn't be able to take much more...
He was panicking now. His lungs burned with pain, and his throat felt so tight it was as if someone had hold of it and was squeezing it with all their might. He made one last hopeless bid to escape his bonds, throwing his whole body forwards in the direction of Slade with all the force he could muster. It was a pathetically futile gesture; his reserves of energy spent, he remained a prisoner, swinging hopelessly in the air.
"How's it feel, pretty boy?" laughed Slade, watching his prey's last attempt to break free fail. "Not such a tough guy now, are you?"
Oliver had stopped struggling now. He stared wide-eyed at the blurry figure of Slade, hoping that now, at last, he would see that it was time for this game to end – it was time to let him breathe again. But Slade did not move. Seconds passed; precious seconds, seconds that seemed to edge Oliver ever closer to oblivion. His head hurt now, and he could feel himself becoming light headed. He was slipping away – slipping into the darkness...
At last Slade stepped forward. Taking a knife from his belt, he grabbed Oliver's head, before piercing the wrap which covered his nostrils. Drifting close to unconsciousness, Oliver sensed the cool air; instinctively he breathed in deeply, filling his aching lungs.
"Did you think you were going to die, Queen?" whispered Slade malevolently, just inches from Oliver's ear. "You don't get off that easy, boy. That was just the beginning – I've got so many more games I wanna play with you, Mr hot-shot hero."
With that he reached up, taking hold of a button which hung from an electric flex attached to the ceiling. He pressed it, releasing the chain which attached Oliver to the hook. Oliver barely had time to register what was happening before he landed heavily on the hard concrete floor, rolling awkwardly onto his side. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily through the tiny airway that Slade had cut in his obscene mask; trussed up and gagged, he appeared as helpless as a fish lying gasping on the deck of a fishing boat.
"Look at you, you worthless piece of shit!" said Slade contemptuously, pushing Oliver onto his back with his boot. "Your friends had abilities, but you? You're nothing – just a pretty rich boy playing at being a hero. Caruso was more of a man than you, and now he's dead – dead because you were too weak to save him."
Behind his mask, Oliver's eyes flashed with rage. He grunted into his gag, eager to show the man who towered above him that he was not yet defeated, and that his spirit continued to blaze strongly.
It was a mistake. Sensing that his captive was recovering, Slade placed the heel of his boot on Oliver's head, pressing downwards so that the young hero's face was ground into the dirt.
"What was that, boy?" he shouted, like a schoolyard bully tormenting his victim. "Do you want some more, is that it? Do you want me to show you what I did to Curry and the kid?"
Oliver did not respond. Something of his strength had returned, but the knot of fear that had been gnawing away at his gut was drawing ever tighter. He knew that his captor was intent on hurting him, and something deep within him told him that what this man had planned would make all the other tortures he had endured seem like a walk in the park. And he was helpless to stop it – trapped, he had never felt so vulnerable, so completely powerless.
Slade removed his boot, before kicking Oliver in the ribs. Oliver curled up in agony, but Slade was relentless. Without saying another word, he grabbed Oliver by the neck and lifted him off the floor. The strength of the man was amazing; with one hand he held the stricken hero aloft, before turning and slamming him down hard onto the steel frame that he had constructed. Winded and struggling once more to breathe, he was aware that Slade was removing some of the rope that had been used to bind him. Sensing an opportunity, he began to struggle, only to be slapped hard around the face.
"Stop struggling, boy!" he hissed.
Dazed, Oliver did as he was told. Expertly Slade began to strap the young hero onto the frame. Thick leather straps were pulled tight around Oliver's chest, abdomen and legs, securely anchoring him in place. Oliver's arms were then lifted up and out to his sides, before they too were fastened into leather cuffs. The result was to make it appear as if Oliver had his hands up, surrendering to his foe. In less than a minute the job was done, Oliver once again rendered completely immobile by his bonds.
Slade stood back and admired his work. Oliver was breathing heavily, his head resting on his chest. He had taken a beating, but he had not yet been broken. That was exactly as Slade wanted it – it would only heighten the thrill of what was to come.
He was ready - it was time to begin.
Chloe stood still on the sidewalk, staring at the large glass doors in front of her. It was early afternoon, and around her crowds of shoppers hurried by. Some frowned at having to sidestep the young woman who stood like an island amidst the great tide of humanity, but Chloe was too preoccupied to notice; she only had eyes for those doors, beyond which lay the answers to the hundred and one questions that continued to swirl around in her head.
She looked terrible. She hadn't slept in over twenty four hours, and it showed; her face looked drawn, her tiredness made worse by the strain of the events of the previous night. It was nearly twelve hours since Oliver had gone missing – twelve hours since his last communication with Watchtower. Even now she could hear the sound of his last words echoing in her head, before some unseen hand had cut the line. It made her physically sick just to think of it. She'd tried to raise him again, tried for over an hour, but it had been no use – he was gone. Worse still, his tracker, which had allowed her to monitor his every move in mission after mission, had ceased to transmit. Every attempt to locate him had failed, as even Watchtower's systems had drawn a blank. The Green Arrow, like the rest of his team before him, had fallen off the grid; it was as if he'd disappeared into thin air.
Anxiety turning to fear, she'd driven to the park in the hope of finding something that would give her a clue as to what had happened. She knew that something terrible had occurred, and for a few awful minutes, as she'd sat in her car watching the police swarm over the area, she had believed the worst. The sight of an ambulance pulling out of the park gates had been almost too much to bear. Part of her thought he was dead at that moment – that after all they had endured together, after all they had meant to each other, it really was all over. It is impossible to put into words what she felt at that moment, the unutterable sense of desolation that swept over her at the thought that she would never again hold him in her arms, feel the soft touch of his kiss on her lips. When, after what must have been the longest ten minutes of her life, she had finally managed to find out from one of the cops on duty that in fact it was Dean who had been killed, she had been unable to contain herself. She had thrown up on the side of the road, her raw relief mixed with guilt and shame. After all, Oliver might still be alive, but Dean was dead – and she was no nearer knowing the truth about what had happened after Oliver's last transmission to Watchtower. She had returned to base empty handed, with more questions than answers.
The hours had passed. The waiting had been almost unendurable, the knot of terror in her gut seeming to tighten with every passing minute. What had happened in that park? Had Oliver been captured, or had he escaped? His silence indicated the former, but there was the possibility that he had managed to get away, but was now lying injured somewhere, desperately in need of medical attention. If he had been taken, who had him? The same people who were responsible for the disappearance of AC, Bart and Victor? What did they want? The questions had kept coming, each more worrying than the last. They had swirled around in her head, demanding answers that she did not have. She felt alone, and helpless – what was she to do?
Then there had been Hoskins' press conference. She had watched, appalled, as the Green Arrow had been blamed for Dean's death. It had all begun to make a little more sense then – Oliver had been set up, no longer the city's hero but now a cold-blooded cop killer. Chloe sensed that she was seeing just the tip of a far wider conspiracy, a plan designed to destroy the reputation of the Green Arrow and wipe out the Justice League for good. Whoever was behind it, they had influence and resources. Instinctively, she knew that Hoskins was just a front – he didn't have the intelligence or the courage to undertake an operation on this scale. Someone else was behind this, but who?
Hoskins was her only lead. Only he knew what had really happened at the park, and what had happened to Oliver and the others. And so here she was, standing outside the building which housed Hoskins' office, the same building from which Oliver had snatched the DA less than twenty-four hours earlier. Was it really only that long ago? So much had happened since then, those events seemed to belong to another world. Part of her knew that coming here was crazy – after all, Hoskins was hardly likely to confess all, was he? But she was desperate, so desperate that she would do anything. She had to act – and to her exhausted, fragile mind, this seemed like the only option.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and entered the building. The lobby was filled with people, but Chloe barely noticed them; instead, gathering what few reserves of mental energy she had left, she marched purposefully towards the reception desk.
"I want to see Hoskins," she demanded, aware as she spoke that she sounded more aggressive than she intended; if she wanted to get to the DA, she would need to display considerably more charm.
"Mr Hoskins is not seeing anyone today," came the curt reply from the man behind the desk, obviously unimpressed by Chloe's opening pitch.
"I need to see him – please, it's important," continued Chloe, her voice softer this time. She managed a half smile, but it was not reciprocated; the man behind the desk appeared in no mood to compromise.
"If you want to make an appointment, then he has some time available next week," he replied, stony-faced. "But as you may have seen on the news, he's very busy at the moment."
"I don't want an appointment – I need to see him now!" snapped Chloe, her tiredness showing.
"I'm sorry, but that's just not possible."
At that moment an elevator door to the left of the reception desk opened. Chloe looked, and couldn't believe her luck – five men emerged, including none other than Hoskins himself.
"Do you think you're going to get away with this?" she said breathlessly, almost throwing herself in his path. Hoskins came to a halt abruptly, a look of puzzlement on his face quickly giving way to a half smile as he recognised the young woman who now blocked his way.
"Chloe Sullivan, isn't it? I recognise you from the papers," he said smoothly, turning to the four men who flanked him. "This is Oliver Queen's fiancé, gentlemen. How is Oliver? I haven't seen him around lately."
Hoskins fixed Chloe with a knowing stare. She understood immediately; he knew everything, and was daring her to do her worst.
"I know you're lying – I know you're lying about Dean Caruso's death," said Chloe loudly, hoping that as many people as possible would hear. She knew that Hoskins had the upper hand, but was determined to make a scene, to embarrass him as much as she could.
"That's quite some accusation, Miss Sullivan," replied Hoskins, his smile widening slightly. "Do you have any evidence to back it up?"
Again he stared at Chloe, silently challenging her to say more. He knew she couldn't; if she revealed the truth of what she knew then Oliver's secret identity would be exposed. That might have been a price worth paying, if it would save Oliver's life, but the fact remained that she did not have any evidence that would exonerate the Green Arrow. The set up was water-tight; the only witness to Dean's death was Hoskins, and who would take her word against his?
"I know what you're trying to do - you're trying to frame the Green Arrow," she continued defiantly. A crowd was beginning to gather, intrigued by the little drama that was unfolding; unfortunately for Chloe, she, rather than Hoskins, was the person who appeared to be losing control.
"Frame the Green Arrow? He tried to kill me, Miss Sullivan – or hadn't you noticed."
Hoskins glanced down at his arm, which was cradled in a sling.
"You're a liar, Hoskins. Who are you working for? Who's paying you to do this?" Chloe sounded desperate now, as all her attempts to unsettle Hoskins came to nothing.
"I think you need to go home and calm down, Miss Sullivan. Perhaps you should give Oliver a call – or maybe he's run off and left you? Is that what all this is about? Is Oliver up to his old tricks – playing around with another woman, maybe?"
Unable to contain herself, Chloe lunged at Hoskins. He neatly sidestepped her attack, so that she ended up sprawled in a heap on the floor. There was an audible gasp from the crowd; Hoskins, eager to show that he was unfazed by Chloe's accusations, leaned down to help her to her feet.
"You need to get some rest, Miss Sullivan – something has clearly made you very distressed," he announced loudly as he pulled her off the floor. He then pulled her close, so that just for a moment he was able to whisper into her ear:
"We've got your boyfriend, Chloe," he hissed, his words audible only to her. "Now you be a good little bitch and keep that mouth of yours shut, or the next time you see leather boy we'll be returning him to you in a box."
He let her go, smiling once more for the benefit of the crowd. Chloe said nothing; stunned, she simply stared at Hoskins.
"Stevens, Dyson – please escort Miss Sullivan from the building and see that she's put in a taxi. She needs to go home – she's clearly not well."
Two of Hoskins men grabbed Chloe by the arms and began to guide her towards the exit. Chloe offered no resistance, and within a few seconds she found herself out on the sidewalk. Only then did she struggle free of the two men, brushing them off with a scowl. They needed no further encouragement to leave her, and very quickly she found herself once more standing alone.
So it was true – Oliver had been captured. At least she knew he was alive, although that was little consolation. What was she thinking, coming here and confronting Hoskins? Sure, she knew a little more, but at what cost? Oliver was a prisoner, and so were the rest of the guys – the last few minutes had done nothing to change that fundamental truth. She was no nearer knowing who was behind all this. She felt completely powerless, trapped by forces that were far beyond her control. Worse still, she had revealed her hand, and now Oliver was in even greater danger. Hoskins' threat had been terrifyingly clear; if she went to the cops or the press then they would not hesitate to kill him.
Suddenly an image of Oliver appeared in her mind. She could see him wading out of the warm waters that surrounded his island paradise, the water glistening off his toned skin as he ran towards her, smiling that smile that never failed to melt her heart.
Would she ever see that smile again? Suddenly a great wave of emotion seemed to well up from deep within her, the strain of all that had happened at last demanding release. She could not help herself; alone and fearful, the tears began to flow down her cheeks.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking it was one of Hoskins' men, she turned around angrily.
"Get your hands..."
She stopped abruptly, a surge of relief flooding over her. Instead of one of Hoskins' men, she found herself staring into the eyes of Clark Kent.
"Clark!" she gasped, throwing herself into his arms and burying her head in his chest. "They've got Oliver, Clark – they've got him!"
"Hey, it's okay – everything is going to be okay," said Clark quietly, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly. "We'll find him, I promise - we'll find them all."
Ollie in peril, Chloe desperate - Clark set to save the day? You know it's not going to be that simple, don't you? That's the great thing about fanfic - you don't have to squeeze a story into 42 minutes (make that 39, if you take out the obligatory barn scene). Hope you enjoyed this one - good to see Chloe and Clark back, but they are not going to be enough to stop some very bad things happening in the next few chapters. Real shocks ahead, I promise!
What about Fortune? Could Chlolliers have wished for a better ending? Just wonderful - I only hope now that Ollie's arc will end on an equally happy note. I have to say part of me felt very sad watching the ep - for the first time there was a real sense that the show is indeed coming to an end, and as the pair of them walked away at the end I couldn't help but think we've only got three Ollie episodes left. Sad - so, so sad.
Please do leave a review if you can - I live for your feedback! Hope to get another chapter up next week, but I might not - real life getting in the way again.